


Familie

by Skystreakerz



Category: CountryHumans
Genre: Conspiracy, F/M, Family Fluff, Forbidden Love, Heartache, M/M, Sacrifice, Tragic Death, elite versus worker, not historically accurate, they look more human than country
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-20
Updated: 2019-05-30
Packaged: 2020-01-22 22:22:09
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 19,942
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18536635
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Skystreakerz/pseuds/Skystreakerz
Summary: The city of Tristis ran on a simple principle: more money, more power, more popularity. The Prussian Family holds the most power of any family, and the heir to their wealth goes by many names. Drittes Reich, Nationalsozialistische, and his most popular name, Nazi. Studying medicine under his uncle Österreich Reich - or more simply, Austria - and alongside his cousins, Nazi ran into a man in a confrontation on the street in a pool of his own blood, and out cold. The moment he saw the man, nothing could ever go back to the way it had been before.





	1. Prologue

"An meine Geliebte, ich vermisse dich. Ich liebe dich. Ich kann es kaum erwarten, dich wiederzusehen."

To my love, I miss you. I love you. I can't wait to see you again.

Soviet stared down at the black and white photos carefully pinned into the pages of the warn down photo album. He brushed his hand over the film encasing one of the photos, the picture displaying himself and Nazi laughing while drenched in cake and frosting. He couldn't help but smile in reaction. Nazi's laughter rang in his ear in that moment as he stared down at the picture, almost as though as he went back in time. His heart fluttered as he heard the laugh, and his chest swelled with a bittersweet joy. He shook his head and turned the pages back to the very beginning, fingers hesitating before sliding out the picture. The picture presented Soviet laying on his torn and frayed mattress in his old home, Nazi right behind the camera with his hand held out and pointed a single finger up. Soviet held a small slice of cake in his hands and grinned at the camera, bandages wrapped around every inch of his arms, torso, and legs, as well as across his cheek and around his head. He uttered those same German words, somehow trying to call out to the one he lost and bring solace to both of them.


	2. First Shot

Soviet pointed his gun at the three in front of him, eyes hardening. "Step out of our territory, _Royals_."

The group chuckled amongst themselves as though the gun Soviet held looked like a water toy. "I don't think you should threaten someone with more power than you."

Soviet growled and shot at the ground at their feet, which made everyone fall to silence. Everything moved in slow motion as the one in front pulled out a pistol of his own, as well as something else in his other hand. The object left the hand and flew through the air, landing in front of the both of them smack in the middle.

"Soviet, we have to back down!"

An explosion ripped through the air, followed not too long later by a discord of different gun shots, from shotguns, to pistols.

" _Нет_!" Soviet cocked his pistol and pointed it at the people on the other side of the street, trying to fire at them. "We stand our ground!"

"Soviet, we stand no chance! We have to-"

"Get down!"

Soviet dove to the side as another grenade zipped toward them, connecting with the wall behind him with an explosion that pierced his eardrums, an excruciating ringing left behind as he pressed himself back against a wall barrier separating him from his enemies. He clutched his pistol close to his chest, watching as his supporters scrambled to form some kind of protective wall with their own pistols. They tried to yell at him, gesturing wildly, but he couldn't hear a thing. He pressed back against the wall, eyes staring straight at the wall which now smoked and crumbled along with all the rest of the buildings around them. How did they get a hold of a grenade!? No one could legally get grenades right now, especially in the city! How did they get ahold of- No. No time to dwell. He had to resolve this conflict once in for all.

He shook his head and hardened his expression, cocking his pistol with a slow sigh. He counted to три, then stood up from his barrier, firing his pistol at the other side with a rekindled resolve. He fired at the figures on the opposite side of the battlefield, his hand steady and his expression stone cold. His hearing slowly returned, and before long, he could finally understand what his friends tried to tell him.

"We're outgunned and outnumbered! Soviet, they have enough to take everything we've gained!"

"They plan to ruin us!"

Soviet turned to face them as he shot back down to the floor, growling as he thrusted his arm toward the direction of the enemy. "We cannot let them get away with engaging in a fight! We started this, we can end this!"

" _You_ started this, Soviet!"

"We can't fight back against pistols and shotguns, let alone grenades! Let's face it, Soviet, they have more power than us!"

"We can barely get three pistols, let alone grenades and shotguns!"

Soviet tried to continue, but as he moved to sprint for them, something clamped around his neck from behind, squeezing his airways shut and yanking him into the air. He could see the horrified looks on the other's faces as he helplessly struggled against the one holding him in the air, kicking at nothing and clawing at the glove-protected hand.

"So, you're the leader, hm?" A voice purred into his ear, an edge of a cold, thin barrel of metal pressing itself into his back.

He watched as someone - a man no older than he himself - walked into his view from behind, then stood in front of him, shaking his head and chuckling. He watched him take a step toward him and brush a single finger along his jaw. He felt lightheaded, his lungs threatening to explode, and he could do nothing about it. He could feel his eyes bulging out of their sockets, his mouth popping open and closed not unlike a fish's mouth as though the action brought some semblance of oxygen to him.

"Do you run this territory, hm, pretty boy?" The one in front of him brushed along his cheek with the flat part of a butterfly knife. "Quit school just to rule the streets?"

Soviet simply stared back as his vision blurred and smeared, trying his best to get a single wisp of air. His head grew lighter and foggier, his lungs screaming at him, and his neck throbbing. He heard the pounding of boots against concrete next to him, though it sounded much further away. The man's grin stretched unnaturally across his face, stepping back and snapping his fingers. Soviet fell to the ground not a second later, gasping and coughing and sputtering as he curled into a ball on the floor. His vision slowly focused back and his lungs stopped burning. Above him, he could hear the voice continue.

"Look at that. It seems as though your friends have abandoned you. So much for rogue gang loyalty, hm?"

He didn't respond, attempting to push himself up off the floor when he felt a foot slam against his back, pinning him to the ground. He grunted and wheezed at the sudden force, his arms yanked behind him and easily tied together by the wrists. He tried to struggle, but his attempts failed every time due to the foot on his back pushing down further and further with every movement he made.

"I think we might have to teach him a lesson." Soviet saw the figure crouch down in front of him, elbows rested on his thighs. "Won't we?"

In one last attempt of defiance, Soviet spat in his face.

His expression slowly flattened into a threatening line. "You're going to regret that."

The one stepping on him shifted and he struggled, yanking and pulling at the other's arms now trapping him in the air, his stomach exposed, completely at the mercy of the one in front of him. He struggled harder as the one he spat at clenched his fist, a sickening grin stretching back across his face as he reeled his fist back.

"Now you'll learn."

A blow landed to his stomach, the wind escaping his lungs in an instant. Pain shot through his entire body and burned against his abdomen, unable to breathe on his own, struggling to get out of the other's arms. His vision blurred and his strength wavered, he could do nothing against each punch, the pain unbearable and excruciating, numbing his mind to all other aspects of reality. He didn't know when he started crying out, but his voice eventually cracked and died out. After what felt like years upon years of constant pain against his stomach, the punches suddenly stopped and he dropped to the ground, gasping and curling into a pathetic little ball on the floor.

"He's too quiet. Get me the knife."

Soviet couldn't handle any sort of movement, his body shaking and shivering. He flinched as someone grabbed him by his hair and yanked his head up, then a cold strip of metal pressed into his cheek.

"Let's try to fix that complex of yours."

The tip of the knife bit into his cheek, digging in and dragging down alongside a burning pain and warm liquid dripping from where the knife just came from. He struggled and groaned against the one holding him down, tears pricking at his eyes as he tried his best to stay conscious.

"You love that, don't you? That pain, that feeling of helplessness, that abandonment."

The knife slid away from his skin, only to get replaced by a thumb, burrowing into his bloody flesh with another blinding wave of agony.

"You deserve to feel every single moment of it."

He screamed from the agony, only for it to crack and die out into silence as fast as the screaming came.

" _I_ rule this place. _I_ rule this city, this road, this life. And don't ever think of crossing my way again, lest you end up dead with a pretty piece of lead between your eyes."

The thumb slowly pulled out, then smeared the hot maroon liquid across his jaw.

"Oh, and one more thing." He grabbed his head again and yanked it further upward. "Your territory is mine. Go back to the place from whence you came, demon."

Not another second later, the hand slammed his head down against the concrete, and everything went black.

...

Nazi covered his face, his eyes wide as he watched the ones surrounding USSR kick, stabbed, slashed, and punched him one by one, then leave him to rot, bleeding out on the cold and cracked concrete, completely unconscious in his small pool of blood. He clawed at his arms and debated sprinting to his car to call the emergency line, but what help would the police and the health department really be? Nazi wasn't naive, he knew the system only really stood to help those with an advantage, which only really included the Royals. The Imperialists who took over the entirety of the city, as well as the whole countryside around the city. What could he do, then? He only had minimal knowledge of medical procedures from his uncle, and this looked too extensive to be for someone who only knew the basics of dressing a wound. Seeing no other alternative, Nazi chose to take matters into his own hands, readying himself by putting on white surgical gloves.

The second the others left, Nazi rushed to his aid. He picked him up and rushed him to his car, trying his best to keep USSR from getting any more injuries by the way he held him. He didn't notice as his once pristinely cleaned clothes stained with a dark, maroon red, especially his pure white gloves. Instead, he pressed one of his gloved hands against the worst bleeding cuts, most of which looked dangerously close to his main arteries and veins, as well as his heart. He kept on pressure as much as he could as he set USSR down on the cream leather seats and crawled into the passenger seat from that side so not to take away the pressure. He reached over and pulled closed the door, then somehow used his free hand to push the key into the ignition, finally bringing the car to life with a roar of the engine. He kicked the car into gear and zoomed off, trying to keep USSR from bleeding out with one hand as he steered with the other. He sped up faster and faster, skidding through town and drifting through lights before screeching to a stop in front of the Prussian Manor. He sprinted with him into the house, up the elevator, and into his room, a rather spacious place which could easily act as an apartment for anyone else in the city. Blood dripped off him and onto the floor, staining the tile, the carpets, and the wood all that same dark, nearly black red color. He threw his sheets to the side and rested USSR down on the mattress, his hands shaking with adrenaline when he finally put him down. He ripped off the rest of the ruined fabrics and ropes with a pair of scissors and left the ones that stayed out of the way, such as his socks and - thankfully - his undergarments. He discarded the scraps of clothes on the small carpet on the floor, then scrambled to his bathroom. He threw open the cabinet door and grasped the medical kit hidden in the very back and rushed back to USSR's side as fast as he possibly could without hurting him, cleaning the wounds off, wrapping gauze around each and every open wound, bandaging him up, and inserting a dose of morphine into his arm, praying to God, asking for USSR to find it in him not to die.

The moment he pulled away, he saw USSR relax in his unconscious state after a few minutes following the Morphine injection, and let through a heavy sigh of relief. He's alive, he's not bleeding out anymore, and he hopefully wouldn't die today. He shakily reached into the freezer at the foot of his bed and grabbed a small ice pack from inside. He pressed the pack to USSR's head, then collapsed back into a chair with a slow sigh, his eyes heavy and his gloves oversaturated with blood to the point of it dripping from the tips of his gloves and onto the floor. He rested his head back against the back of the chair, trying his best to calm the erratic beating of his heart and his elevated breathing. He slowly, shakily, took off his gloves - grabbing the palm of the first glove and pulling it off, then using two fingers of the glove-free hand to peel off the other glove from beneath the cuff - before tossing them to the floor next to the bloody clothes. He hung his arms over the sides of the chair, concentrating on his breathing to help it slow down. The more his breathing slowed down, the more he felt his body relax and stop shaking. He felt himself finally calm down after constant stress throughout the day, from the first day of finals, to gunfights, and now helping someone stay away from the brink of death. His eyes grew heavier and heavier the more he merged with the couch, and now he felt like just a melted candle. He felt sleep creep up on him. He felt like his body finally gave out after such a high stress day, and the prospect of sleeping seemed like the best option. He fully agreed, welcoming the sleep with open arms, and submitting to the feeling of finally becoming stress-free. He drifted off into a peaceful sleep, further and further into willful unconsciousness...

That is, until his bedroom door slammed open.

"Mein Sohn! Ich brauche di-" The voice cut off as quickly as it started.

Nazi jolted upright and looked up at his father with widened eyes, his father holding an eerily neutral expression in the now-dim lighting of his room upon his face.

"V-Vater-"

"Warum?" He snapped.

Nazi flinched at the time of voice. "Ich-"

"Entferne ihn von hier. Jetzt."

Before Nazi could reply, a strangled groan came from the direction of the bed. Nazi looked over to USSR as his father continued to command him to take USSR out of the house. Instead of replying in any way, he rushed to USSR's side, resting a hand on his uninjured shoulder and calling for him.

...

Soviet's body seemed to weigh itself down as he woke up. He ached to his very bones, his eyes refused to open. He could hear, far off into the distance, voices murmuring with no understandable rhyme or recognizable sound. Where is he? Is he dead? Did he finally die? He reasoned with himself that, no, if he actually died, he surely believed heaven never allowed those who died to feel any kind of pain. So, just where in the world had he come to? He couldn't feel cold concrete below him, which meant that someone moved him. He concentrated his will on understanding the two faraway voices to somehow get answers. The voices soon floated closer and closer, and though he could hear them, any attempt at understanding them only caused confusion. A different language, no doubt. With one last ounce of willpower, he forced open his eyes, the dim lighting welcoming and much more preferable to any blinding spotlight he expected. He blinked a few times focus on his surroundings and found someone standing over him a moment later, an expression of worry and relief painting the face.

"USSR. USSR, are you alright?"

It took him a moment to connect the voice and face to a name. He stared a moment, struggling to find an answer, then producing a single word.

Third.

He choked and tried to sit up, but Third pushed him down. "Hey, hey, calm down. You're safe here. You're alright."

Soviet groaned and laid his head back down as more aching pain clawed at his stomach and face, closing his eyes again.

"Do you need anything? Are you in any pain?"

"It matters not if he is in any pain," a new voice snapped. "He is to leave my house this instant."

Soviet looked over at the new voice, blinking a few times to see just who stood there. A man in a tailored black suit, arms behind his back, and eyes piercing him. He knew the man's identity in an instant. Second Reich, the most powerful man in the city.

Third sighed and looked up to Second. "Father, please-"

"Do _not_ speak to me in that manner, Third. This boy shall not taint my son."

"Father, he was bleeding out-"

His father shouted something in response, to which Nazi flinched and did as told, yet still stayed between Soviet and his father.

"I will not tolerate this dog in my house, nor anyone of his breed. It matters not if he bleeds out on the sidewalk in front of my house, or whatever kennel you found him in, at least it will rid the world of another disappointment."

Third turned around and gently wrapped his arms around Soviet, holding him up and walking out of the room. "I have to take him home."

" _Third_! How _dare_ you defend this disgrace! Third!"

He ignored his father and walked out of the house, opening the door to his room and marching out into the hallway.

"Third, if you leave this house, your privileges will be taken away until the day I cease to exist!"

He continued to ignore his father as Soviet curled into Nazi, his head throbbing in pain at the sudden movements and the blaring voice of Second Reich. He pressed his head into Nazi's shoulder, his fingers digging into Nazi's back. Nazi murmured a soft "sorry" to him as he tried to speed walk through the house and onto the driveway, ignoring his father as he continued to scream.

"Third, don't you walk out of this house! I will not have this family working to help the lower classes! Third! Get back here, or there will be consequences! Third Reich!"

He rested Soviet down on the passenger seat, then hopped into the driver's. He started up the car, then shifted his car into gear, taking off down the street as fast as he possibly could. His father stood on the driveway, his eyes bright with fury.

"Where's your house?" He sounded generally unaffected by the explosive interaction.

Soviet rubbed at his temple, looking over at Third with a suspicious look. "Why are you helping me?"

"You're a person too, and I can't just stand by while someone dies on the streets. It's not right." He glanced over at Soviet, then stared forward. "We haven't... formally met. I'm Drittes Reich Nationalsozialistische, but I prefer either the name Third or Nazi. I met you in the park the other day? While you were purchasing some-"

"Food, yes." Soviet nodded, brushing his hands over the bandaging around his stomach and chest. "USSR, as you already know."

Third chuckled, tapping his thumbs against the steering wheel. "Of course. Where is your home?"

Soviet hesitated. Should he provide Third, one of the most popular and influential kids in the city, with the address of his home? Could he trust someone so powerful with one of his biggest weaknesses? Could he allow someone of his stature with the power to blackmail him, ruin his life, and maybe even take away any hope he had of staying independent?

He took a deep breath, resting his temple against his propped up fist. Despite his previous thoughts about Royals, he reasoned with himself that, yes, he could trust him. This Royal, the single teen who held more power than most adults in the city, just saved his life. Perhaps... perhaps Soviet should at least give this one a chance. Somehow repay him for giving him back his life.

He took one last moment to swallow his pride, then started giving his directions. "To the northeastern district. Travel along North Silk Road until you reach the northernmost part."

Third blinked, hands tightening around the wheel. "You're a-"

"Don't say the name."

The two fell into a tensioned silence. Third continued to drive on Silk Road while Soviet stared out the window, clutching at his stomach as pain built up hotter and hotter against his skin. Neither tried to speak except to ask where to go and to provide directions. The tension continued throughout the ride until they stopped just outside of the city, buried in the wilderness and isolated. They came upon a mansion which looked as though no one has lived in it for years. Third stopped the car in front of the mansion, but when he moved to turn off the car, Soviet held up his hand.

"No. Drive down a little further."

Third arched a brow in question, but chose to stay silent, continuing down the road and further into the wilderness, then came upon a tiny, crudely put together cabin without any sort of discernible electricity, water, or heater. He stopped again and Soviet muttered a small 'thank you' before getting out, stumbling and falling to the ground with a grunt as his legs gave out from under him and his head went light.

"Oh my God! Are you alright?" Third scrambled out of the car to help him up, draping his arms over his shoulders to assist him into the house. "You shouldn't be trying to move so much. You lost a lot of blood."

Soviet blinked the darkness out of his eyes, leaning heavily against the smaller and panting. "I'm... alright. I can handle a bit of blood loss."

Third pushed open the nearly unhinged wooden door and carried him to the tiny bedroom just off of the main room in the house, which acted as both a kitchen and a living room with nothing but a firewood stove, a torn up single sofa, a shaggy rug, and only enough dishes to last a single person two days at the most. He set Soviet down on the makeshift bed, looking around the house as he bit his lip, looking as though the state of the house stressed him out.

"You... really live here?"

Soviet laid his head against the pillow with a sigh, rubbing his face with his hands. "Yes. I really live here."

"Why don't you live in your f-" he paused a moment "-in the mansion? Wouldn't that be much more comfortable?"

"I refuse to live in a prison," he muttered, pushing himself up as pain shot up his spine. "I refuse to have any sort of reminders of my place of torment."

Third bit his lip, looking around for a few moments before taking a deep breath and nodding. "Alright. Alright, USSR." He sat down on the edge of the bed. "Do you have... an ice chest? Or maybe a refrigerator of some kind?"

Soviet shook his head, sitting up a bit more and making himself wince from the pain in his stomach. "Don't have the money for it."

Third bit down on his thumb, narrowing his eyes in thought. "What to do? You obviously can't move right now unless you want to pull open your wounds again, and your stomach can't handle any sort of running either. Which means you have to lay down, so stop trying to sit up."

Soviet snorted, laying back down as carefully as he could without causing any pain. "I am not a weakling. I can-"

"Nein nein nein nein, no talking. You can't go walking around with those kinds of injuries." Third stood up and started walking back and forth, one arm crossed over the other and his other hand held his chin. "My father would no doubt try to kill you if he saw you in the house again. So, I guess that means..."

Soviet watched as Third's eyes brightened, the scarlet color shimmering as he grinned mischievously. He tried to interject before Third could finish his sentence, but he didn't get the chance.

"I'm going to come over at seven every morning. I'm going to get you two gallons of water every day, and I'm going to give you all of the food and clothes you'll ever need." Third turned to look at Soviet, pulling out a small notebook and a pen. He flipped through the pages until he came upon the next clean one, then clicked his pen open. "When's your birthday?"

Soviet blinked. "I'm sorry?"

"When's your birthday?"

"Why would that be of any importance?"

"Just answer the question."

Soviet glanced to the side, drumming his thumbs against his thigh. "December thirtieth."

He hummed and wrote down something in his notebook. "Interesting. You're only about two months older than me." He trailed off as he started writing more things on his notebook. "Alright. Do you have clothes?"

"Of course I have clothes, you think me an environmentalist?" He scoffed, waving him off. "Never have I chosen to live without clothes."

Third arched a brow, walking over to his closet and pulling it open. True to Soviet's word, he had a tan high-collared trench coat, three long sleeved shirts, four pairs of pants, boots, black dress shoes, a single suit set, a tie, two pairs of socks, and some other undergarments. Third grabbed one of the shirts and looked down at the tag, then repeated the action with the pants. After a few moments, he made a satisfied noise, then wrote something else down in his notebook.

"Are you trying to become my parent?"

"Maybe."

Soviet stared at Third in disbelief, a surprised laugh escaping him. The two haven't even known each other personally for an hour, and already the Prussian heir planned to provide him with everything he needed. He could take care of himself, he didn't need anyone to-

"You have a warm laugh."

Soviet jerked out of his reverie, giving Third another look. "Are you complimenting me?"

"We're friends, I can compliment you if I want." Third poked his cheek which somehow stayed out of harm's way. "Besides, there's nothing you can do about it."

Soviet waved him off, with a muttering "bah."

Third giggled. "Not very well versed in social interactions, are you?" He sighed. "Oh well, might as well teach that to you too."

Soviet restrained the urge to roll his eyes and shake his head. "I am no child. I know how to interact with people."

"If you say so." He closed his notebook, then slipped it into his pocket. "I'll be back as soon as I can. Don't go anywhere."

"You say that like I can move."

"I'm not taking any chances."

Soviet sighed, grabbing the book on the nightstand and holding it up to his face. "Alright alright. Where are you going, then?"

"To go get you your supplies."

The door clicked closed a moment later, and just outside, he heard the scarlet red sports car roar to life, then take off down the road. Soviet sighed and rested the book over the face, closing his eyes and resting his hands by his sides.

What just happened?

He took a moment to process the past day with himself.

At the beginning of the day, he went through his daily routine. He tried collecting food for the ones who requested it with two of his allies, got into an altercation with some Royals, and wakes up in the house of another Royal, who became his new caretaker. Now he's sitting on his bed, bandages around his body, and unsure of how his life will continue from this point forward. He swore to himself that he wouldn't associate with any Royals after his father, especially because of...

He shook off the thought and opened his eyes, taking the book away from his face and closing it to look at the front cover. Коммунистический Манифест, The Communist Manifesto. A book which his father threw out countless times so he could not read it. One of the only books he never allowed in the house. He never really understood why. The book didn't appear to have anything wrong with it. In fact, the word 'communist' sounded rather inviting. Perhaps he felt the book threatened the wellbeing of his home? He put the book back on the nightstand and hummed quietly to himself, staring up at the cracked ceiling, and his mind immediately went back to the events of the day.

No one ever tried to help him more in his entire life as much as Third had in just an hour. His friends abandoned him any chance they got, his father had- and the other people in the city barely spared him a second glance. Now he had someone who wanted to see him alive, taken care of, and healthy. He... didn't quite know how to respond to it. Should he welcome it? Fight it? Suspect something wrong with the sudden interest in him? Retaliate?

He sighed and ran a hand down his face, flinching when his hand ran over his cheek and a burning pain clawed at his face. He shook his head and looked down at his socks, one of the only clothes still intact after getting ripped apart from his fight, and probably from Third taking care of him. He snorted as he realized just what state of dress he currently stood in; he only wore a pair of socks and undergarments and nearly entirely covered by dressings only a mummy dared to wear. He didn't even have his boots on!

A grin stretched across his face as he relaxed back into the bed. He must look ridiculous at the moment. Maybe he should at least get a blanket and put it over himself to at least keep _some_ sort of dignity. So, he reached under his bed and grabbed his spare sheets, and draped it over his bandaged frame, then let his arm fall back on the bed. He struggled to open his eyes when he tried, and his body - though it still ached - didn't hurt as much as it could. He slowly drifted off to sleep, all the thoughts about the past few hours dulling into silence.

...

Nazi drove through the city in silence, his mind racing faster than his car could possibly go. He pulled his wallet out of his armrest console, sliding it into his pant pocket after he parked the car in front of the strip mall. He stripped off his blood-soaked shirt and snatched a spare one from under his seat, slipping it on before doing the same with pants. Not too long later, he now stood outside his car in a simple black v-neck tee and faded black jean pants. He locked the car, then made his way into the store, constantly checking his notebook for the things he needs. First, he went to the hardware store and grabbed a generator, wincing at the number on the price tag. He bit his lip and planted his hands on his hips, a slow exhale escaping him as he thought about whether or not to get the generator. He weighed his options, and after a few moments of deliberation, chose to leave it alone. He reluctantly walked out of the hardware store, then slipped into the department store, navigating through the aisles to find dishware and utensils. He snatched up plastic plates, bowls, and cups, as well as some metal utensils, then looped around to the back, where he picked up some gallons of water, many different kinds of ingredients - from pasta, to beef, to pancake mix - for different kinds of dishes, and bags of ice with an insulated ice chest. Finally, he grabbed medical supplies for USSR. All of this combined somehow ended up costing less than half the cost of the generator. He quickly purchased everything by cash, then poured the ice into the ice chest before sprinting back to his car and starting it up again. By this point, the dark purple sky glittered with stars and shined with the moon as he drove out of the Istanbul Strip Mall and back up North Silk Road until he once again reached USSR's home, turning off his car and grabbing everything from the trunk in the back. He hauled it all to the front door, then used his thigh as a resting spot for the ice chest so he could knock on the front door.

"USSR? USSR, it's me. May I come in?"

He only got silence in answer. Must be asleep.

He sighed and pushed open the door, walking into the shed-sized main room. He set down the ice chest in the tiny space next to the stove and put in the food which needed to stay cold, then set the gallons of water on top of the wood stove. He stood back and looked at his handiwork, hands now set in his pockets. The ice chest barely fit between the wall and the stove, and the gallons of water looked like they could fall off the stove at any minute. Although not entirely satisfied with the result, he chose to let it go, since this came out as the best he could do. He turned over to the door of the bedroom, debating with himself for a moment before pushing open the door. He peeked into the room, finding USSR now resting on his bed, his chest slowly rising and falling under the covers he put on himself at some point. He stepped away from the door and ran a hand through his hair. Now, he had to worry about some much more trivial matters. The matters concerning his father. Perhaps he could retreat to his cousin's home - Austria-Hungary - for the night. Yeah. Yeah, that seems like the best option right now.

He grabbed his notebook and flipped to the very back, ripping out the page and setting it on the stove. He clicked his pen, then scribbled a note on it before walking back into USSR's room and setting it on the nightstand, right on top of a book of some kind.

_See you at about 07:00._

_-N_

He clicked closed his pen, then walked back out into his car. He closed the door and stared at the steering wheel, tapping his thumbs against it. Austria-Hungary's house looked like the best option for now.

He started up the car and turned it around, then made his way to his cousin's home. He drummed his thumbs against the wheel, his mind drifting off as he wound about the quiet streets. USSR seemed like an interesting character. He didn't seem as bitter to the Royals as he originally thought, though that may be because he just saved his life. He wasn't as violent as he thought he would by the way he carried himself around the city. In fact, he kind of acted like a he was more suspicious of him than threatening. The most concerning part, however, was the condition of his house. How could anyone willingly subject themselves to living in a trashy little shed when you could have a mansion at your disposal? What kind of torment could he have gone through?

He shook his head, turning off North Silk Road before he reached his home district, traveling south-bound until he reached his cousin's house. He slowed to a stop in the driveway, then walked up to the front door and knocked on it. A few moments later, he found his cousins - Austria-Hungary and Czechoslovakia - opening the door. Austria-Hungary brightened and welcomed him in with a bright smile and a warm hug.

"Cousin! How are you?"

"It's good to see you."

He grinned and hugged her back, then pulled away. "I'm good." He gave Czechoslovakia a high five. "How about you guys?"

"We're doing just fine. Here, come inside! Make yourself feel at home."

"We made some Székelygulyás, would you like some?" Czechoslovakia closed the door behind them as they made their way inside.

"Why not? Sounds great." Nazi walked down the hallway with his cousins, his arms wrapped around each of their shoulders. "Did either of you finish all your finals today? Or do you still have to go tomorrow?"

"I've got two more classes too." Austria-Hungary took them to the kitchen, dishing out some of the bright orange pork and sauerkraut stew and sliding it to the others.

"I got all mine finished." Czechoslovakia shrugged. "Wasn't too hard."

"Good for you," Nazi muttered, shoveling forkfuls into his mouth at a time.

"No need to rub it in," Austria-Hungary whined.

"Of course there is!" Czechoslovakia settled himself into one of the chairs next to Nazi, resting his jaw in his propped up hand. "So. Onkel Hohenzollern said a lot about you."

Nazi froze.

"What about?" He asked slowly.

"Told us you were taking care of a lower-class boy in your room. Said he tainted you." Austria-Hungary wiggled her eyebrows at him.

"So? Was he good? Worth getting grounded until the day Hohenzollern dies?"

Both Austria-Hungary and Czechoslovakia giggled.

"Mein _Gott_ , get your _filthy_ heads out of the gutter! I helped a man who got in a fight! I saved him from _dying_!" Nazi threw his hands in the air. "My family is a bunch of perverts!"

"It's not our fault! It's just the way Hohenzollern phrased it!" Czechoslovakia gave a light shove to Nazi's shoulder.

"Yeah, you can't blame us!" Austria-Hungary rested her arms over Nazi's shoulders. "We're sorry," she whined.

Nazi huffed, crossing his arms and shaking his head. "I despise the both of you."

"Of course you do." Czechoslovakia's face broke into a grin. "So, who is it?"

Nazi sighed and ran a hand down his face. "You've got to be kidding me..."

"What?"

"We just wanna know!"

"And you won't know." He grabbed his fork again and started eating again.

"We'll tell Onkel Hohenzollern you're here."

He choked and coughed into a napkin, his eyes watering as his body convulsed. His face brightened as he tried to speak through his coughs. "No- o- o- o."

"Then who is it?" Austria-Hungary rubbed his back as Czechoslovakia slid across the counter in front of Nazi.

He beat his fist against the counter, trying his best to stop coughing. "One se- second."

"You can't cough forever," Czechoslovakia sang.

Nazi finally stopped coughing about a minute later, sniffing and pressing his cold hands to his burning face. "No. I can't. Alright, you want a name? I'll give you a name." He set down the napkin. "USSR."

The other two silenced from shock.

"Happy now?" He snatched up a glass of water, sipping on it to somehow curb the urge to start coughing again.

"You mean the freaky tall one? Where'd he even come from?" Czechoslovakia got up in Nazi's face. "You gotta tell us details, man!"

Nazi simply pushed against Czechoslovakia's forehead with a single finger to scoot him backward. "Like what? There's nothing _to_ tell. Look, I'm exhausted. Can't you two just let me be so I can _sleep_? I need to get up early tomorrow morning."

"Do you need an alarm clock?" Austria-Hungary stood up when Nazi made his way to the guest bedroom by retreating out to the grand hall and walking up the staircase.

"Yes, thank you."

"So, I don't have to take Austria-Hungary to the school, right?" Czechoslovakia crossed his arms. "I don't need to-"

" _Yes_ , Czechoslovakia. I'm taking her tomorrow." He palmed open the door, pulling open the drawer and getting out some pajamas. "Do you-"

"Yes, we have a toothbrush and some toothpaste in the bathroom." Czechoslovakia leaned against the threshold.

Austria-Hungary came in a moment later with a little pink alarm clock, grinning at Nazi. "I got you my spare alarm clock."

Nazi snorted and took the clock from her, patting her shoulder. "Thanks."

"So, what's second to last year like? I'm kind of afraid for my life." Austria-Hungary moved over to Czechoslovakia's side.

"You'll be fine, I'm sure." Nazi rubbed his face with a sigh. "I'll see you two in the morning, alright?"

"Yeah yeah."

"See you in the morning!"

The door finally closed, and Nazi let out a sigh of relief. He slid off his clothes, throwing them to the floor and walking into the bathroom. He flipped on the shower, then pulled open the drawer, squeezing toothpaste onto the toothbrush and brushing his teeth while he stood in the shower. He closed his eyes and relaxed under the flow of water. To get to USSR's home, he's going to have to get up at around six. He would need to be as quiet as possible if he was to keep from waking anyone up.

Why was he thinking of this now?

He shook his head and finished his shower, drying himself off with a towel and throwing away the toothbrush. He tossed the towel into the clothes chute, then pulled on his pajamas and settled himself in the bed. He looked over at the alarm clock and set it to 06:15, then closed his eyes. He fell to sleep in nearly an instant.

...

Soviet came to with his entire body aching. He groaned and curled into a ball, squeezing the pillow close to his face. Everything hurt. Much _much_ more than when he first woke back up. He slowly opened his eyes and stared into the pillow, his headache not as bad as most other times. He slowly picked his head up and looked around, the sky outside his window a grey color. He rubbed his eye with a strangled sigh and laid on his back, more pain shooting up his spine with the movement. He squeezed his eyes shut and took a deep breath, braving through the pain until it dulled down to a more bearable level. He waited for a few agonizing moments, then let his eyes open again. Everything felt terrible.

He jolted as he heard an engine roll up to his house, then shut off by his front door. The sudden movement made his pain flare up again, ripping another groan from his throat. A knock sounded at his door, then it squeaked open.

"USSR? Are you awake?"

He only made a low groan in answer, unable to do much else as Third popped his head into the doorway.

"Good to see you awake. You feeling alright? Or, do you need something to help with your pain?"

Soviet held up two fingers, then put his hand back down.

"Alright. Let me... let me see..." Third trailed off, and Soviet heard footsteps retreating from the bedroom door, some shifting in the kitchen, and then footsteps approaching his side again. "Do you... Do you have a fear of needles?"

Soviet shook his head.

"Could I take your arm, then?"

Soviet held up his arm to the other, pressing his face into the pillow as his headache throbbed against his skull. He barely felt the needle push into his skin, then slide out a moment later.

"It'll take a few minutes to take effect. Do you want anything for breakfast when the pain goes away? I can make you some pancakes."

He made a low sound, nodding into the pillow.

"Alright, will do." Then, footsteps retreated out into the kitchen again. He heard something squeak open, then fall closed, followed by the sounds of a lighter clicking to life, the crackling of a fire, metal getting set on metal, and hissing a few moments later. The smell of Blini instantly hit his nose, a pleasant experience while he suffered. Eventually, however, he felt his pain slowly ebb away, and he finally sat up a moment later. He watched as Third - now dressed in a form-fitting, red, v-neck tee and black jeans came in with a new plate, setting down the steaming, golden-brown circles in Soviet's lap.

"How in God's name did you know how to make Blini?" He took the fork from Third, cutting them up and eating it piece by piece, reveling in the taste.

"Nothing too special, just found a recipe book on the floor next to your stove. Not very easy reading Russian when you're Prussian, so I did my best to recreate it from pictures." Third rubbed the back of his neck, a nervous laugh escaping him. "Do you like it?"

Soviet nodded, giving Third a bright smile. "Very much so."

Third grinned, then made his way back to the front door. "I have to go take my cousin to school. I... I'll try to come back as soon as I can."

Soviet nodded, holding up his fist. "За здоровье. Farewell."

Third threw a careless salute in his direction, then disappeared out the door, sprinting out to his car and taking off down the road.

Soviet looked down at the now empty plate, making a small noise at the back of his throat. He felt so... useless. Not only was he on house arrest, but he couldn't even walk around his own home! He had to at least do something for himself.

He tried to stand up, but his body retaliated by screaming out with an agonizing pain. He let out a strangled sound, digging his fingers into the bed as his legs collapsed below him. He simply rested half on the bed, staying there a moment before trying again. His body ached and screamed and burned as he shakily stood up, panting heavily as he held himself up. He just had to push through these first few moments, then he can run around and get his own supplies for himself.

He took a deep breath, trying to shake off the pain as he clutched at the bed. He felt nauseous. He tried his best to crawl into bed, but any attempt to do so caused more blinding pain. So, there he knelt on the floor, curling into a tight ball to somehow suppress some of the pain.

Stupid. Damn his arrogance and stubborn nature.

...

Nazi hopped into his car and zoomed out of the school carpool lane as fast as he possibly could. Though he knew he shouldn't feel obligated to rush, he still wanted to get to USSR as fast as possible. The first three days after injuries always act the most treacherous. So, he wanted to stay around him as much as possible. He heard his car phone ring next to him, but he chose to ignore it, swerving through the rest of morning traffic. He got onto North Silk Road, then sped into the distance, hands clenched around the steering wheel. He narrowed his scarlet eyes and his lips curled into a snarl of sorts in his concentration. He made it to the tiny shed as fast as he could, then stopped the car. He threw closed the door, then opened the door.

"USSR? Are you alright?"

He only heard a growl of pain, then barked out something in Russian, his voice strained and in pain.

Nazi swallowed and made his way to USSR's room, not entirely sure what the other said, but speaking with such agony like that never ended well. He found USSR curled into the side of his bed on the floor, sitting on his knees, and clutching at his stomach with his eyes squeezed shut and shaking.

"What happened!?" Nazi sprinted to his side, eyes wide as he rested a hand on USSR's shoulder. "Do you need help?"

 _«_ _Нет_! _»_

He bit his lip, stepping back before running back to his car. "I'm calling my uncle!"

He didn't hear Soviet's shout in reply as he yanked out the car phone, dialing his uncle's phone and holding it up to his ear, muttering 'antworten' over and over again.

"Grüß Gott, Aust-"

"Onkel Österreichisches Reich!"

"Nationalsozialistische? Was-"

"No time to explain. Can you please try to get to Russisches Reich as fast as possible? Medizinischer Notfall."

"Ich bin schon unterwegs! Stay on the phone."

"I can't, he's inside!"

Austria Empire made a growling sound. "Alright, just run out if something bad happens. What's going on?"

"I'm not sure. He's curled up into a ball on the floor and in pain while he's holding his stomach."

Austria Empire made a sound, then the sound of shifting came in from the other side. "He may be bleeding. Is his stomach tense or purple?"

"I don't know, I haven't seen it yet. Do you... do you want me to check?"

"Yes please. I want to know as much as possible. I'll be making a room in the hospital for him. Is he throwing up?"

"I don't know. I'll be right back." He sprinted back into USSR's room, kneeling down next to USSR's side. "USSR, are you alright? Have you thrown up at all?"

He shook his head, shivering and pressing his forehead into the bed.

"Do... Do you mind if I see your stomach?"

USSR slowly pushed himself up, flinching as pain shot up his spine. Nazi kneeled down and slowly unwound the bandages from his abdomen, wincing when USSR grunted in pain. He hesitated before looking up at USSR again.

"Hey, I need to touch your stomach. Are you alright with that? It... It might hurt."

He nodded, then braced himself by digging his fingers into the bed. Nazi took a moment, then hesitantly pressed his hand against his abdomen, causing USSR to yank back and bark out in pain.

He winced and pulled his hand back. "Sorry. I'll be right back." He scrambled to his feet, then sprinted out to the car. "His stomach is tense and it hurts when I touch it."

"Don't move from where you are. I will be there as soon as I can." With that, the phone went dead.

Nazi rushed back to USSR's side, resting his hand on his shoulder. "You'll be alright, I promise. This'll be all over soon."

Nazi tried to do as much as he could for USSR, then when he heard a car screech to a halt in front of the house, he got up and threw open the door. He found his uncle, the blaring of sirens getting louder as lights flashed down the road between the trees. Austria waved the ambulance in, stopping them in front of the cabin. Austria stepped into the bedroom, kneeling down next to USSR.

"Are you alright, sir? We need to get you to the hospital."

USSR tried to sit up, but Austria stopped him from doing so.

"Hey, hey, don't worry. We'll take care of it."

As the people who operated the ambulance took USSR up and placed him into the vehicle, Austria crossed his arms and looked over at Nazi.

"He can't pay for the expenses."

Nazi swallowed hard, looking up at Austria. "Please, Onkel-"

"I can't just give free medical services to everyone in the city. I'd be out of a job." He sighed slowly. "The best we could do is give him a-"

" _I'll_ pay for it, alright? I'll get a job and I'll pay for it."

"It's not just me you're paying for." Austria shook his head, walking back toward his car. "Some day you have to learn you can't save everyone, Nationalsozialistische."

"Onkel, please, what do you want me to do?"

Austria turned back toward him as he opened his car, a withering expression on his face. "Do not get involved. You are a _Reich_ , a Royal. You do not associate with workers. Doing so will only bring you trouble."

"Then let me live with the consequences! Let me pay for it, I'm sure I have enough money in my account to pay you off."

Austria clicked his tongue, standing there with his car door open for a little longer than necessary. "Your Vater would not approve."

"That doesn't matter."

"I think you'll come to regret those words." Austria sat down in his seat. "I will take care of him."

"Of course, Onkel." He bit his lip. "May I follow you to the hospital?"

Austria gave a short nod, closing the door, then taking off down the road, Nazi following right behind him.

They all came up to the hospital not too long later with the ambulance already parked. Austria made his way into the building and pushed his through the hallways to find USSR in one of the rooms.

"I want a CT on his abdomen and cranium, and an ultrasound on his abdomen. Check for internal bleeding and possible concussions. As soon as we have results, and all the papers are signed, I want to get him in that op-room as fast as possible." He grabbed the clipboard, blinking at the name.

"He... He's dead, isn't he?"

...

Soviet shifted to press his head against the pillow after the woman in scrubs took away the little wand from his stomach and walked out of the room. He rubbed at his temple, staring over at the annoying beeping machine next to his ear.

"Turn that damn thing off," he grumbled, "pаздражающий-"

A knock came to his door.

Soviet groaned and massaged his temples with his thumb and middle finger. Must they talk to him while he's in pain like this?

He pushed himself up and rubbed his face, staring at the closed door in the bright white hospital room. "Yes? What is it?"

The door opened a moment later, a man with a clipboard coming in with a smile. "Hello, Tsarevich Russia."

Soviet bristled at the name.

"I'm Doctor Reich." He sat down in a chair in front of Soviet. "So, is your name really Tsarevich?"

Soviet dug his fingers into his arms, trying to force down the urge to snap. He swallowed his pride looked the man straight in the face.

"Yes. I was Tsarevich."

"Where has your family gone?"

Soviet reset his jaw. "We're supposed to be improving my health. Not inquiring about past mysteries."

"Sir, I can't provide you with medical assistance if I don't-"

"You just all want to prove I'm their killer, _right_?"

"Sir, that's not what it-"

"And all you'll do is tell everyone else that you-"

"Sir, please. I can't tell anyone anything that happens out of this room unless someone else is threatened." Doctor Reich held up his hands. "I am not accusing you of anything. I have to ask these questions because it could cause legal re-"

"I am a legal adult, which means I can make my own decisions. You can see that on your clipboard, can't you?" He tried to sit up more. "Don't try to play me like I am stupid. I may be a worker, but that doesn't mean I don't know what I'm doing."

"Of... of course. Yes. My apologies." Doctor Reich cleared his throat. "Your... medical bill. How do you choose to pay?"

He took a slow, deep breath. "How much is it? That and your... _silence fees_?"

"Well, since you have no insurance, that should be..." he grabbed his clipboard, then slid him a paper with a written number on it.

Nearly five hundred and twelve thousand Austrian schillings, which meant he needed to pay over twenty four _million_ of his father's currency.

He sighed and nodded. "Alright." Although he never wanted to use his father's currency, it may be his only option as of now.

"I must inform you that someone has already paid your expenses for you." Doctor Reich held out another note to him. One which had a small symbol comprised of two sharp, blocky 's' shapes making an 'x' at the bottom of the paper.

"May I ask who the person is?" He looked up from the note at Doctor Reich.

"You call yourself a smart boy, think."

Soviet knew exactly who wanted to take over his medical expenses.

He sighed and ran a hand down his face. "I'm assuming you're not entirely happy about this. What with me being a worker and all."

Austria stood up, resting a hand on Soviet's shoulder. "I take each of my patients seriously, no matter what status they are."

Soviet scoffed, shaking his head. "Right. So, when are my surgeries?"

"Not long from now, do not worry." Austria got up, then walked out of the room. Only a few moments later, that same woman in scrubs came in with a syringe.

"This may hurt a bit. I want you to count to five, alright?"

Soviet watched as she pushed in the clear liquid into the IV set up in his arm, and he began to count.

"One... two..."

It left like something burning up his arm, and then-

Soviet slowly came to with that same annoying beeping by his side. He felt like his body floated in midair as he woke himself up little by little, trying to make the annoying beeping stop by throwing his arm in the direction of the sound.

 _«_ Закрой рот...»

He completely missed and slammed his arm down against something metallic, like a pole but sideways. Who puts a pole sideways? Can you put a flag completely sideways? How would it flow in the wind? Wind doesn't flow up.

He heard a loud knocking sound, causing a sharp pain in his head each time. He groaned and tried to cover his ears while curling into a sideways ball to get away from the noise, but it didn't go away. Eventually, he just lifted his head up and politely told them to 'Пасть забей, падла йебаная.'

"Well, that's no way to talk to your father. I am disappointed in your Russian which I still cannot understand."

Soviet picked up his head and stared blearily in the direction of the voice. There he found Third, who had his hands on his hips, looking like a mother about to scold her child.

"So you're finally awake. Great. We can have you home in about two weeks, yeah?"

Soviet stared at Third with narrowed eyes, trying to run the words through his mind and get a translation. Awake... home... two... weeks. "Two weeks?"

"Yes, two weeks. Remember that pain you had in your stomach?"

It took Soviet a little bit to respond. Pain. Stomach. "Yes."

"You had to get surgery."

Surgery. Sur...ger...y. "Surgery?"

"Yes, USSR. To fix your stomach."

To fix... stomach. "Why?"

"To fix your pain, remember? You had a lot of pain."

A lot of pain? "I did?"

"Yes you did. So the doctors had to fix it."

A lot of pain. "I did."

"... Yes."

"Yes."

Third snorted. "Are you even awake right now? You seem pretty loopy."

"I am awake. I am also floating like angel."

Third tried to hide his grin behind his hand. "USSR, you aren't floating." He sounded on the verge of laughter.

"I am floating. Like angel. See?" He looked down, only to find he sat on a bed. His mood immediately dropped. "I am not floating?"

"No, USSR. Sorry."

He sighed and laid back. "Damn God not give me float powers."

"Unfortunately." Third walked over and settled on the edge of the bed. "How about, when we get out of here, we go somewhere nice? Yeah?"

"Uh, yes."

"Good good. Very good. I'll see you in two weeks then?"

"Um... yes."

Third grinned and fluttered his fingers as he walked out the door. "See you then."

...

Two grueling weeks passed in the span of two centuries. He could do nothing but sit in one single spot. He tossed and he turned, unable to do anything but sit, watch the liquids in the bag next to him drip down into the tubing and seep into his bloodstream. He didn't have anything to do, so when the prison sentence finally ended, he sprinted out of there as fast as he could. He slammed open the front doors of the hospital and breathed in the fresh morning air, the breeze twirling through his hair, and brushing along his outstretched arms. He opened his bright golden eyes and stared out into the distance, watching the misty fog settle over the mountains and forest out into the distance toward where his home resided, before turning to look at the road which had all of his companions. He didn't spare a single glance back at the hospital before he decided to walk toward the park, his hands in his pockets, and his face freshly shaved of any sort of mess.

He took the long way to the park by walking along a path in the forest, humming to himself as he listened to the twittering of the birds, and the distant roaring of a river way out into the distance. He watched his surroundings in silence, barely paying attention to the dull aching within his abdomen. He saw birds hop from tree to tree, and small squirrels and other tiny creatures scurry across the land. He watched the rays of sunshine drip down from the trees, highlighting random spots on the ground every once in a while. He almost forgot he walked at the moment, and all too soon found himself at the edge of the city park. He spotted his usual vendor - as well as life-long friend - and swiftly made his way over, stopping in front of the man with an apologetic grin.

"Ukraine."

His gold and red eyes glistened brighter as he grinned, yanking Soviet down into a rib-crushing hug. "Soviet, my man! Where have you been?" He pulled back and patted Soviet's chest. "You look terrible."

Soviet laughed and patted Ukraine's shoulder, kneeling down so they stood at the same level. "I'm doing just fine, Ukraine, and yourself?"

"Still trying to pay off my wheel chair, as usual. Oh, and trying to steal whatever food I can, so nothing new there." Ukraine playfully punched Soviet's shoulder. "But enough about me. What happened three weeks ago? Kazak and Azer told me some of the Royals tried to kill you. Is this true?"

Soviet sighed and ran a hand down his face. "Unfortunately. They tell you the Royals now have grenades too? And that we lost our main base in the west?"

"Yes." Soviet sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. "I tried getting back here, but I've been a bit... caught up."

"I can tell. You have bandages all over yourself. You even have a scar on your cheek. How did that happen?" Ukraine reached up as much as he could and traced along the scarred skin on his cheek, an indent now in his skin. "Especially this one. It looks horrible."

"Caught me between themselves." He pulled his head back a bit, and Ukraine took the cue to retract his hand. "Also how I got a bit of a head injury." He tapped his forehead, which also had a barely visible, faint line for a scar in the middle. "Smashed my head into some concrete."

"Well that's no good." Ukraine poked the air in front of Soviet's stomach. "And that? How was that taken care of?"

Soviet couldn't help but chuckle at the sheer absurdity of the situation. "You know of the Prussian family, yes?"

Ukraine's jaw dropped. "You're _kidding_."

"I wish I could say I was." Soviet shoved his hands into his coat pockets. "The heir found me bleeding out and decided to mother me, as peculiar as that sounds."

"So, what, did he ask for some sort of compensation? Or-"

"No, Ukraine, he hasn't asked me for any favors as of yet." He looked out in the direction of the Prussian Manor, narrowing his eyes in thought. "I'm not exactly sure what I should make of him. Should I trust he won't try to do something to me in the future?"

"You can never trust anyone won't do something in the future."

Soviet looked back to Ukraine.

Ukraine leaned back in his chair and rubbed at his lifeless legs. "Lives change. People change. You can't base the future on the present when it comes to people's behaviors."

"I suppose you're right." Soviet made a sound in the back of his throat. "I believe I can trust him for now. He hasn't tried threatening any of us, and he ended up covering my medical expenses. The only thing that he's asked for as of now was a chance to talk."

"Odd indeed." Ukraine leaned back in his chair, rubbing at his legs even though he knew he couldn't feel it. "Well, we can only hope that we can figure this situation out some time soon so we aren't trapped by it."

Soviet ran a hand down his face and sighed. "I know. I'll try and fix this the best I can."

"Good, now let's talk business. We have some matters to discuss. Especially about the time during the last two weeks."

...

Where the hell is he!?

Nazi sprinted to his car in the hospital parking lot and slammed his boot against the metal, the car lurching into action and speeding down the road to try to find USSR. Where could he have gone? Was he okay? Did he get hurt again? He frantically glanced at his surroundings as he tried to look for any indication of the taller. He's not supposed to be walking around yet, he's still recovering! Where the hell did he go!?

He got a glance of a man in a tan trench coat crouched down in the park by his side.

He threw his wheel to the side and squealed to a halt in the parking lot, kicking open his door and sprinting for USSR. "USSR!"

The man stood up turned away from the one in the wheelchair to reveal those soft gold eyes, watching him approach with an arched brow. "Third? What has you in such a hurry?"

"I was looking for you! I thought you got hurt or something! You're not supposed to be walking for extended periods of time, do you not realize you could have hurt yourself!?"

USSR arched a brow. "I'm sure just walking to the park and meeting a friend won't do anything to me, mother."

"Oh, mother you say?" The one in the wheelchair moved forward, his hands gripping the wheels. "I never thought I'd see the day."

Nazi looked down. "I'm sorry, who are you?"

"Rasputin." Ukraine grinned up at Nazi. "And how are you, Lady Russia?"

"Ukraine, please." USSR rested a hand on Ukraine's shoulder, then looked back over at Nazi. "I'll be fine, Third, there's no need to worry for me."

"I do if you keep acting stubborn like this and refuse to let yourself heal!"

"I have more important things than my health to worry about, Nazi." USSR gripped at Nazi's shoulders. "I have matters to get to."

"What could be so important that saving yourself becomes secondary?" Nazi poked at his chest. "You could be bleeding out again, and you're just standing here worried about-"

"Yes, Third, I am." USSR took his hands away from his shoulders and sighed, rubbing his face and turning away. "I can't talk right now. I have to work on-"

"Then tell me what is so important so that we can find a way to fix it." Nazi grabbed hold of USSR's arm and turned him back, staring up at him with burning scarlet eyes. "What could be so bad as to make you want to undo weeks of recovery?"

"I have family to worry about." USSR looked back at Ukraine, who gave him a thumbs up.

Family? He can't be that old, can he? Probably shouldn't assume anyway. "Oh, I apologize. I didn't know you had a family to take care of." Nazi cleared his throat. "Do you have children, or...?"

USSR laughed and shook his head. "No no, not like that. I consider my closest friends my family."

"Right." _Stupid. How the fuck did you not think of that!?_

Ukraine muttered something to USSR, and he nodded in kind. "We need to leave as of n-"

"Oh, don't think you're leaving so soon." Nazi gripped USSR's trench coat - what he could reach, anyway. "You're not doing anything unless I supervise you."

Ukraine snorted and looked up at USSR, muttering something in Russian, which caused USSR to roll his golden eyes. USSR then turned back to Nazi. "I don't believe you can join us where we are going without repercussions."

Nazi scoffed and waved him off. "I can handle anything you can throw at me."

USSR arched a brow and crossed his arms. "You think you can handle it?"

"Of course I can fucking handle it. I'm not letting you out of my sight without knowing you aren't going to do anything stupid again."

Ukraine chuckled and made some sort of remark to USSR in Russian once more, which made USSR smack the back of Ukraine's head and shoot a remark back. "Trust me, you won't enjoy where we are going."

"Can we just go? You said it was important."

Ukraine looked up at USSR. "Well? What's your choice?"

USSR crossed his arms and ran a hand through his hair, muttering to himself before sighing. "Fine. Have it your way. But, I am not at fault for anything that happens to you."

Ukraine nodded and wheeled himself toward one of the random concrete squares on the ground with a metal grate smack in the middle. USSR stood upon the grate while Ukraine rested himself next to it. Nazi watched on with confusion, but approached when Ukraine signaled him over. What the hell were these two doing? They can't seriously be saying there's some kind of secret base under the-

USSR pounded his boot against the grate once, twice, pause, then thrice, the last one much louder than the previous. Just like that, Nazi felt the ground give out from under him, and he now spiraled down a pitch black shaft. He freaked out, flailing around and yelping, but they soon landed on the ground, something fluffy burying him in a pink fabric. He heard shifting, then USSR speaking in Russian, followed by a few other voices, including Ukraine's. He tried to scramble out of the mess of fabric trapping him, when he felt someone grip the back of his collar and hoist him up with a single hand. He stared straight at a woman with green and red eyes, dropping him to the floor before turning to USSR and speaking something to him. USSR spoke something back, then the woman turned around.

"You are Third Reich. Yes?" She gripped his arm and looked him up and down, her eyes piercing.

"I am." He stood still, leaning away a bit to increase the distance between them.

She yanked him around, turning him, pulling at his clothes, and even plucking a single strand of sandy hair from his head, causing him to flinch. She examined the thin strand between her fingertips, then nodded to herself and proceeded to... to put it in her pocket.

"And... you are?"

"None of your concern." He watched her walk toward USSR, speaking lowly to him before walking away when USSR gave her a nod.

"... Right." Nazi rubbed his head and looked up at USSR. "So where is 'here' then exactly?"

USSR hummed and stood next to him. "This is Union."

USSR gestured around them to the underground bunker, the concrete walls and ceilings somehow bright with the use of the wired lights above and along the walls. The room branched off into many different hallways, some labeled, some blocked off, and some brightly lit. Down the middle of the room, a long carpet of a bright red laid there, as well as an embroidered symbol of a hammer and sickle below a star the same soft gold as USSR's eyes.

"How did you get this all down here?" Nazi stared around, then turned back to USSR.

"That doesn't matter as of now." USSR rested a hand upon his shoulder. "Now, are you going to follow me, or just stay here in the main hall?"

Nazi arched a brow. "Which one do you think?"

USSR shrugged. "Thought I might ask."

Nazi crossed his arms. "Just lead me to your meeting or whatever it is you plan on getting yourself hurt with."

USSR chuckled and walked toward the end of the main hall and pushed open the double doors, greeted by a gigantic table with fifteen seats, each carved with a different animal symbol on the head rest. Upon the table's surface, a map of the city shifted and glistened, symbols glowing and moving before occasionally blinking away. It almost looked like some kind of tracker or a marker. USSR made his way to the head of the table, settling himself down within it and watching as fourteen other people settled in, including Ukraine - who transferred into the seat with the help of the woman from before. What kind of organization did he just find himself in?

The others at the table didn't seem very comfortable with him around, snapping in Russian at each other and occasionally throwing their hand at him to make their point, to which USSR easily responded back and got everyone to settle back down. Nazi awkwardly stood to the side as the meeting continued, some drawing upon the surface of the map with their fingers and causing all sorts of patterns to draw themselves on it while others wrote plans down and made little symbols and numbers in the notepads they possessed. By the end, only one set of lines and circles stood out among the previous lines, lines which USSR had gone over with his own fingers and highlighted them in gold, and everyone broke off, then stood right in front of Nazi, staring at USSR for some kind of explanation.

USSR stood to the side of Nazi, resting a hand upon his shoulder and staring out at everyone. "May I introduce Third, the heir to the Prussian Family."

"Why here?" the woman from before snapped, standing straight in front of USSR with a knife in her hand. "Why him? He threaten you?" She thrusted her finger against USSR's chest.

USSR took hold of her wrist and pulled it away. "No. I know it may seem a bit miraculous, as does it for myself, but Third actually assisted me while I laid upon my deathbed a few weeks back."

The other broke off into chatter, then one of them walked up to him. One who sported quite a few scars of his own. "You took him in when he nearly got beat to death."

Nazi nodded. "I did. And you are?"

"Kazakhstan." He held out his cut up hand, which Nazi took. He yanked Nazi closer, pinning him to his chest like he pulled him into a hug. "No one trusts you here. You have no standing here. It would do you good to stay as far away from this place as you can when you don't have him," he nodded over to USSR, "standing over your shoulder. Don't think we aren't suspicious of you and your every move, no matter what you did for our leader." He pulled back and displayed an almost threatening grin, patting his shoulder. "Welcome to Union."

Welcome. Right.

The woman from before shoved her hand against Nazi chest with an expectant look in her eyes. "Belarus."

Nazi looked down at her hand, then took it with his own. "Nice to-"

She yanked her hand away, causing Nazi to stumble. "Watch step, Royal." She turned heel and stepped away.

"Don't worry about them."

Nazi looked down to find Ukraine sitting back in his wheelchair, chuckling to himself.

"Give us time, and we might just warm up to you. It may take a while. It's a bit of an adjustment for all of us here, having a Royal in our presence."

"I can see that. A blind mice could see that."

Ukraine patted Nazi's lower arm. "Just give it time. I'm sure it will get better. Just as everything else has." Ukraine looked over in the direction of USSR, then turned back to Nazi. "I wish you luck in taking care of USSR. He is a stubborn man, and will sure as hell give you a run for your money."

Nazi smirked and crossed his arms. "I doubt it." He turned over to USSR. "I think we should be going. You need to get home and rest. Especially after exerting so much of your energy and straining your injuries."

USSR just shook his head and gestured Nazi to walk, to which he exited the room, USSR following right behind. When they got to the main hall, however, Nazi stopped, confused on where to go to get to the surface.

"Allow me."

USSR patted his shoulder as he walked past and made his way to the end of the main hall, then pushed a button against the concrete. The wall began to separate, and a staircase revealed itself on the other side. He pushed open the doors on the top, and the two appeared in the middle of the forest. Nazi blinked and stared around. How... what...

When he looked back, the doors had disappeared, replaced with nothing but a cement tile upon the ground. What the-

"This way."

Nazi snapped his head back to USSR, who now began walking through the trees. He scrambled to follow after the other and pointed back toward where they came from. "How did you do that?"

"Do what?"

" _That_!" He pointed back toward the cement square.

USSR just smiled at him, and continued walking.

The two walked in silence, Nazi completely flabbergasted, and they both found themselves in front of USSR's home. USSR opened the door for both of them, and Nazi collapsed into the sofa with a heavy sigh, followed by USSR.

"Do you need a moment?" USSR smirked behind his hand.

Nazi sighed and ran a hand down his face. "... How did you do that? We only walked a few steps from the entrance of the park and the forest, and- just _how_?"

USSR only chuckled. "A magician cannot reveal his secrets."

Nazi leaned back. "Fine, I'll make a deal with you, then."

USSR arched a brow back at him.

"If you tell me how you did it, I'll help you expand your company and pay you for internal improvements."

USSR stared at him with those same glittering gold eyes, scratching his temple. "Internal improvements."

"Yes! I will pay you whatever you need to fix, and help you pay for any upgrades you want, just to know how you did it."

USSR shrugged and leaned back against the couch. "Maybe when I know I can fully trust you."

Nazi rested his chin in his propped up fist. "Fair enough. How about I take care of you for an entire year, and throughout that year, I'll try and gain your trust."

"I can take care of myself." USSR poked Nazi's forehead. "I am not daft."

"I know, but it can't hurt to have someone to help you. Besides, it must get lonely when you're here by yourself. And, I need a place to move to anyway. Can't live with my family forever."

USSR held up his hands. "Back up. You want to _move in_?"

"I mean, why not? I have to gain your trust _somehow_ , yeah?"

USSR scoffed and laughed. "You want to downgrade yourself and your lifestyle just for some worker's trust?"

"Have I not made that clear enough?"

USSR's grin turned into a line, making some sort of confused expression. "You can't seriously consider it. Not only that, but you don't even know me. Why would you want to enter the house of a stranger?"

"I mean, I did save your life, and pay your medical expenses, and get you supplies, and-"

"Alright alright I get it, you're a charitable person. I still don't understand your motivations to move _in_  with someone who can barely keep the house together in the first place. So?"

Nazi sighed and shook his head. "Look, I won't move into your house if you don't want. I could move in next door or something. How about that? I move into y- the mansion next door, and you can stay in your happy little home alone. How about that?"

USSR snorted. "You just want a bigger home? If you-"

" _No_ , that's not what I'm saying. God, you're so suspicious. I can't even go a second without-"

"We are entirely different classes. Of _course_ I'm going to be suspicious of you." USSR rubbed his face. "But, I suppose if you somehow find me trustworthy enough to sit in the vicinity of me, let alone stay in the same home, I suppose I should extend the same to you." He turned back over to Nazi. "Fine. You have a deal. If you can build my trust throughout the course of a year, and stop providing me with essentials when I can get it myself, then maybe I'll tell you how I did it.“ He nodded toward the direction of the mansion. "And you're staying there. There isn't room in here for you to sleep."

Nazi couldn't help the giddy, toothy grin that spread across his face. "Fair enough. Deal. Now, I have to grocery shopping. Now stay here and actually rest. Don't pull your wounds open again, I paid good money to keep them closed."

...

Soviet, however uncomfortable the situation made him, decided to go along with it. Why? He didn't quite understand it himself. Possibly to repay this debt to the Royal as fast as possible and keep his independence? Maybe to satisfy some odd curiosity he had? He didn't really know.

It only became more confusing throughout the course of the year.

About a month after he came home, Soviet had all of his bandages and braces off, now able to do whatever he wished - including go to the meetings alone if he wished, though Nazi never let him leave without missing a chance to go through the 'magical portal' he had. He now held a needle and thread within his fingers, scrunched up the rug and stitching the many holes closed, weaving the thread through each sides of the hole and pulling it closed. Outside, he heard the familiar roar of Nazi's sports car further down the road growing closer before turning off just outside, then a knock at the door before it banged open.

"Soviet!"

Soviet arched a brow and looked up. He just started letting Nazi call him that a few days ago, but he still couldn't get used to it. That, and calling Nazi... well... Nazi. "What do you want?"

"Rude." Nazi settled next to him on the ground. "I didn't know you could sew. It looks clean."

"You don't know a lot of things." Soviet looked back over at him. "So? What do you need?"

"I was going to ask if you needed anything from the store or something."

Soviet snorted. "You went shopping yesterday. So, what is it?"

Nazi cleared his throat and rubbed the back of his neck. "I have a question about our relationship."

"... Go on." Soviet crossed his arms.

"Look, I want to get something for you since your birthday is in a few months-"

"Five."

"-but I'm kind of... clueless." He chuckled nervously, glancing off to the side.

Soviet couldn't help but laugh. "You want to get me a _birthday present_?"

"Well I mean... yes. We _are_ friends, are we not?" Nazi looked back over at Soviet.

Why was he giving this man a chance? He was supposed to prove him wrong. He may just make this harder than he thought even then, it's only been a month. This is going to be a long year. "I... suppose. Why would you want to- never mind. Why are you asking me now?"

"So you forget before then." Nazi grinned at him.

Soviet chuckled and shook his head. "I have a better memory than you think." He took up the needle again. "If you really must know, I don't exactly have the most... masculine birthday list."

"Oh really?" Nazi leaned forward. "Do tell."

Why was he telling him this? "It's more just essentials. Needles, threads, maybe an extra thimble, some f-"

"Not essentials, I can get you those next time we go grocery shopping." Nazi waved him off. "What do you _want_?"

What _did_ he want? He never really had the chance to think of that before. "May I be honest?"

"Sure."

"I have no clue."

Nazi's grin dropped. "You've gotta be kidding me."

"I don't have the-"

Nazi waved him off. "I know, I know. You just want to put others before yourself."

Soviet blinked. When did he-

"But, you have to have at least something you want for yourself. Spoil yourself a little bit, yeah?" Nazi playfully pushed his shoulder.

Soviet let through another chuckle and pulled at the rug. "I'd rather not. I have others to take care of."

"Like who? Your organization?" Nazi wrapped an arm around his shoulders.

"I suppose you could say that. That, and the other kids around town."

Nazi tilted his head to the side. "'Kids'?"

Soviet pulled at his fingers and nodded. "The other sides of town. To the south and southwest. They... I couldn't live with myself if I couldn't do something for them." Why did he keep telling him these things? He's supposed to be cold-hearted to any Royal he meets. "They don't have any means to support themselves, so I want to give them something."

He saw Nazi grin from the side and pat his shoulder. "So you're a big _softie_! That's adorable!"

"I'm not soft," he muttered, leaning away from the other.

"Oh, come on, man. You've got a soft spot for helping children! That's pretty admirable." Nazi rapped his hands against Soviet's floor. "So you've got a way with kids, _and_ you have good looks? I'm surprised you're still single."

Soviet put a hand over his face to obscure his blush. Curse him being so easily flustered. "A bit flirtatious of you."

"What? It's true! You're the perfect family man."

He felt the tips of his ears start to burn. "I doubt that," he muttered. He couldn't be that good of a family man. Especially when-

"No need to be embarrassed about it." Nazi lightly shook his shoulder. "I'm not taking it back, though."

Soviet sighed and shook his head. "Right." He turned around and found Nazi smirking at him. "... What?"

"You must be the most adorable man I've ever seen."

Soviet's entire face lit up, alongside his neck. He tried to hide it in his hands, and Nazi's laugh didn't help. "I'm not adorable."

"Sure you're not." Nazi nudged Soviet's arms and grinned wider. "You're so easily flustered. Is it because you _liiiike_ me?"

Soviet scoffed and looked off to the side. "Doubtful."

Nazi grinned and wrapped his arms around Soviet's neck, which didn't help his case whatsoever. "If you say so."

Soviet pushed Nazi away and rubbed his face. "Must you be such a flirt?"

"Of course I must." Nazi pressed a hand to his chest and puffed it out to make him look more heroic. "It is my noble duty."

Soviet suppressed the urge to roll his eyes. "Sure."

The two fell into a comfortable silence, Soviet continuing to sew while Nazi played with the frayed ends of the rug. Soviet found himself zoning out, his mind silent as he rhythmically slid the needle from one side of the hole to the other, loop it back to the first side again, and repeat. Finally, he came to the end, and tied the thread off before snipping it away, now no discernible area where the rug had torn.

"So-"

Soviet suppressed the urge to jump at the sudden voice.

"-I wanted to ask if you wanted to help fix up the mansion next door with me. I noticed a few blocked off rooms, and I wanted to use one for my art room because it has the perfect view of the forest and a balcony. I kind of need help opening it since I uh... I'm not really that strong." Nazi let out a weak chuckle and scratched the back of his neck.

Soviet let through a slow breath, trying to find a way to get out of it, only to find no excuse. So, he just admitted his defeat to himself, and nodded. "Alright. I'll come with you." He put the rug down and rested the needle in the pin cushion, then stood up and brushed himself off. "Let's go."

Nazi jumped to his feet and walked after him. "Really? I thought you might say no because of how it was blocked off."

"It's your choice."

He pushed open the door and rested his hands in his pockets as he walked through the forest to the mansion down the road. Nazi called after him to join him in his car, but he decided to ignore him and keep walking. Delay the inevitable as long as possible. Nazi scrambled into his car behind him and sped to the driveway out about ten minutes in front of him. He saw the bright red car pull into the grand driveway Nazi fixed a few days ago, then saw him climb out and wave him down to get him to come over faster. He only shook his head and began jogging up at the other’s request, cutting the time he wanted to stay away from the house down by more than two thirds. He stood in front of the grand driveway, lights illuminating the cloudy afternoon in front of the fascinatingly large mansion.

Nazi pushed open the huge wooden double doors which looked stripped of the paint, stained, and sealed with a glossy sealant. As they walked inside, the sight of the hardwood, double-sided staircase wound up to the second floor in front of them, the doors under the stairs now replaced with glass paneling, as well as the sides, displaying the gorgeous fixed backyard and forestry at the back of the house, and effectively making the whole house lighter. Soviet looked around in amazement, not sure how he should react to the house somehow feeling more inviting than he had any recollection of, even if it still had that slight scent of vodka and burning metal under the powerful smells of new paint, carpet cleaners, sawed wood, and air fresheners. He tugged off his trench coat and rested it upon the coat rack next to the door, unable to mask the wonderment in his expression.

“Does it look alright? I didn’t want to make too many adjustments withou-“

“It looks much warmer in here.” He rolled his shoulders, looking back at Nazi to see him staring at him. “I enjoy the changes you’ve made.”

Nazi seemed to shake out of his trance when he turned around and ducked his head a bit, a slight dust of pink now touching his cheeks. “Thank you. It’s taken a lot out of my savings.” He gestured Soviet to follow. “Come, come. It’s upstairs.” He jumped up the wide wood floors two at a time - somehow - and stared down at Soviet from the top. “I’ve got tools for us waiting next to the door.” His voice easily carried to the other side of the huge room in its emptiness.

“I don’t think that will be necessary.” Soviet walked up to the stairs, still trying to drink in all of the changes the other made. He stepped up each stair, the clicking sound echoing through the halls as he made his way up.

He saw Nazi dip back and go around the hallway on the left, to which he followed. They both found on the second floor, an area cut out so the room they came from before opened up to the ceiling above them, as well as two hallways on either side of the cut out. Nazi went up a second flight of stairs off to their now right side, and they came upon a third level. The living quarters.

Nazi, of course, decided to stand in front of the one door he never wanted to face ever again. He tried his best not to react other than clench his fists at the sight of the blocked off door. He walked straight up to it.

“Okay, I know the boards are pretty thick, so I brought over some-“

Soviet reeled back his fist.

“-crowbars and hammers in case you would-“

“SLAM!!!”

“Mein Gott!”

Soviet put his hand back down, watching as the door lamely creaked open after getting released from the boards keeping it closed, the room barely illuminated because of the thick, faded curtains in front of the window. The musty, heavy smell and thick layer of dust from of the room hit the both of them, mostly Nazi by the way he coughed and waved his hand over his face.

“What did y-“ he coughed once again into his arm “-you hide in here? An entire century?”

“Something like that.” Soviet wanted nothing more than to turn around and walk away, but he knew the smaller needed to get the other doors inside opened as well. He let Nazi walk inside and look around, his face shoved into his sleeve, and his scarlet eyes watering.

“This room is even worse than the rest of the house. What did you put in here? It smells like ash and mold and old wood and abandoned room and moth balls.”

Soviet snorted and walked his way into the room, his steps causing plumes of dust to cloud the air. “It’s an old room. I don’t know what you expect.”

“Well, old rooms don’t have layers of ash mixed into it. What did you do, have a year-long campfire in here?” Nazi threw open the curtains and pushed out the glass doors, the air immediately improving with the smell of cold, crisp forest air. He sighed and leaned against the balcony, taking a deep breath in.

Soviet tried not to react, resting his hands in his pockets and staring out into the distance. Nazi might be too observing, he has to play along carefully. No need to alarm the other and wrongfully confirm any suspicions. “What do you plan to do to this room?”

“Probably repaint it.” Nazi stood back up and dusted off his hands, looking back into the room behind him. “Cut out the curtains, put some shelves in what I assume is the closet blocked off over there,” he gestured back to the boarded up doors, “and figure out what caused that stain on the floor.” Nazi stared straight at him, crossing his arms as though expecting an answer.

Of course he knew what caused the stain, but he sure as hell wasn’t going to tell Nazi any time soon. He only gave Nazi a shrug and looked down at the stain. “Don’t know.”

Nazi gave him a strange look when he looked back up. “... Right. Well, do you mind breaking down the double doors? I kind of need all the doors to be open.”

He only nodded back and punched in the double doors, some unwanted memories hitting him alongside the dust.

His back started to itch.

He shook his head as if to wave the bad memories away and turned back to Nazi. “Is that all you needed?”

“Believe so, but why don’t you stay a bit longer? I planned on eating here in a moment.” Nazi grinned and gestured him to follow.

Soviet just walked after him.

The year got more and more interesting as it passed by.

Nazi never met anyone quite like Soviet, and it intrigued him. His old home had more secrets than Nazi’s own home did. Blocked off rooms, rooms covered in ash, empty weapon mounts, a broken catholic cross, sealed and locked books, secret rooms - that he may or may not have stumbled on by accident - the list goes on. Not only that, but Soviet himself had many different oddities he couldn’t quite piece together. The man acted with passion and fueled his decisions by emotion rather than logic when it came to people. He almost had a sixth sense when it came to the needs of others around him - and the minute mood changes the person themselves probably didn’t even notice - and seemed to always know just what to do to remedy the change. He acted very fatherly, yet motherly at the same time when it came to people and his interests, and it confused Nazi to no end.

About three months into this abnormal relationship, Nazi found himself reading some of the books he could actually understand. He sat within the sofa in the two-level library, settled in next to the smoldering fireplace while he wrapped himself in his blanket, sucked into the book he held in his hands, when he heard shifting in front of him.

He looked up to find Soviet sifting through the books after finishing whatever he needed in the main commons room, then pulled out a book with red leather and gold lettering, spelling out something in Russian, previously hidden between and below books within the locked section of the library. It had bookmarks and post-its and a pen clipped into its front cover. From the other side of the room, he could see Soviet’s golden eyes brighten in happiness.

“That looks like an interesting book.” Nazi pressed the tip of his finger against the top corner of the book he held. “What’s it about?”

Soviet snapped the book close to his chest, clearing his throat and looking to the side as his cheeks dusted pink. “Nothing important.”

Nazi couldn’t help but giggle and patted the spot next to him on the sofa. “Alright, why don’t you come read your not important book next to me?”

Soviet no doubt still distrusted him, but even so, Soviet humored him in his odd requests and engaged in pointless banter. A few moments later, he felt the cushions dip next to him, then saw Soviet’s leg rest over the other as he flipped open his own book. In a sudden burst of confidence, Nazi decided to do what most in his family believed unthinkable.

Nazi laid his head on Soviet’s shoulder, and he felt Soviet immediately tense up and snap his head down to Nazi. Instead of acknowledging him, Nazi decided to continue reading. At first, he thought Soviet might snap of him to get off his shoulder, but instead, he just turned back to his book after a few minutes. Nazi could feel Soviet’s skin get hotter - probably blushing again, the adorable man flustered so easily it was almost comical - and his arm make smaller movements so not to disturb Nazi’s head.

“Soviet?”

The other answered with a short hum.

“Do you drink Vodka?”

He felt Soviet tense up even more at the question. Maybe that was a bad question to ask.

“I ask because I keep smelling Vodka throughout the house, and I can’t tell if it’s because there’s secret rooms all over the place that just have Vodka stashed wherever I go, or because the smell is permanently imbedded into the walls.”

Soviet didn’t answer him for a few moments. At first, Nazi thought Soviet might not even answer it all, but to his surprise, he actually gave him something. “No.”

It… really wasn’t much. But it was something. The something Nazi learned from the other’s reaction: Soviet hates the notion of drinking, he never drank, and someone else in his family drank a hell of a lot. Let’s try to switch to an easier topic, then. “Sorry for asking. May I ask something else?”

“Go on.”

“What’s the book about?”

Soviet cleared his throat again. “It’s about…” he mumbled something under his breath, something which Nazi couldn’t really hear.

“About what?”

He mumbled it again, and Nazi just sighed and looked down at the book. He got a glimpse of a grayscale photo displaying a dress on some sort of mannequin before Soviet slammed closed the book and pinned it close to his chest again.

“Am I still not trustworthy?” He gave Soviet wide, pouty eyes, to which Soviet pushed his face away.

“Not with this.” He hid the book within his inside coat pocket somehow and crossed his arms.

“Come on, I promise I won’t tell anyone. Pleeease?” he whined, trying to make his eyes wider, more childlike. He knew Soviet had no chance against a look like that, especially because of his weak spot over children.

Soviet tried not to make eye contact, but Nazi did his best to make that as hard as possible for him, even going to far as to put his face in front of Soviet’s. He saw Soviet struggle to look away and deny him, then gave in with a sigh. “It’s my book of study. I put different things into the book when I wish to study something. I… I need to work on my sewing, so I was looking for more places to find sewing books.”

Nazi looked down at the book as Soviet took it away from his chest again and flipped back to the page with the dress on it. Sure enough, little snippets of newspapers, book pages, highlighting streaks, pen markings, sticky notes, and even little pencil notes. Pictures taped in ranged from types of needles, to dresses, to fabric patterns. On the next page, however, the mood completely shifted the focus in the opposite direction. The next page had instructions on different fighting styles, from hand-to-hand, to different kinds of weaponry. This same pattern of moving back and forth went throughout the pages they flipped through, all kinds of different topics ranging from dollmaking, to types of ways to instantly kill someone. The constant switching between topics made him even more confused the further they flipped into the book. Finally, they reached the end a few moments later on a topic that didn’t really surprise him. A topic about safe alternatives to medicine for adults and children.

“You really do care for people a lot.” Nazi traced over the page, then looked up at Soviet.

He only nodded and stared down at the pages, his face a bright red. “Yes. I do. I can’t just stand by when people are suffering.” He pulled at his fingers, a nervous habit Nazi caught onto a few weeks ago.

Nazi smiled and laid his head back down on Soviet’s shoulder. “Thank you for sharing.”

“I don’t know why you’re thanking me, but you’re welcome.”

Nazi used the book he found to his advantage.

For an entire two months, he looked through all kinds of pages to find something he could use for Soviet’s birthday, making notes and walking to different stores and searching through the shelves before finally stopping upon the perfect gift, something he found Soviet made quite a few little notes about, especially in the other reference books mentioned in the study book. He finally got the present and, a few weeks later, had it wrapped and rested in front of him in Soviet’s home living room on the floor. When he heard Soviet’s door creak open, he saw Soviet with only some cargo pants and a white t-shirt, even in the freezing cold weather outside. He turned back to Nazi and yelped at the sight before walking over to him.

“What are you doing h- what’s that?” He pointed down to the wrapped box.

Nazi grinned and held up the box. “Happy birthmas!”

Soviet looked down at the box again, then took it into his hands as he sat down on the sofa. “‘Birthmas’?”

“Birthday-Christmas.” Nazi shrugged. “Now come on, open it.”

Soviet looked at him a moment more before ripping off the paper and pushing open the box, finding an acoustic seven-string guitar resting inside. His gold eyes brightened with shock, awe, and excitement, running his hands along the wood and tracing the strings, then reverently lifted the guitar from its place and held it within his arms.

“You…” he trailed off, holding the guitar close to himself within his hands.

“Do you like it?” Nazi grinned up at Soviet.

Soviet giggled as he looked back at Nazi, gripping the guitar like his life depended on it. “I love it. Where did you find this? I…” he brushed his hands back over the body of the guitar. “Wow.”

“I’m glad you liked it.” Nazi felt his cheeks hurt from how much he smiled. “I wanted to get something good for you.”

“It’s perfect.” Soviet turned back to Nazi, something like disbelief coloring all his features. “Why did you get me this?”

“We’re friends, and you’re allowing me to renovate the mansion. You’re also starting to trust me.” Nazi rested his hands in his crossed legs and watched as Soviet’s blush crept back onto his face, which he tried to obscure.

“I suppose so.” Soviet strummed the strings, wincing at the tone of each one. “It looks like I’ll have to tune it.”

“Probably.” Nazi pulled out the second present from behind him.

He saw Soviet’s eyes snap wider as he slid the tiny box in front of him. “You're kidding.”

“Nope. Tune your guitar.”

Nazi held up the box and Soviet swiped it from him. He tore the paper off and slid open the box to take out the little tuner. He pressed a button and the tuner screen turned on, to which he rested it on his crossed legs and began plucking the strings one by one, adjusting the pitch with the tuning pegs. Eventually, when he strummed again, the sound became much more delightful. He had a glint of excitement so bright in his eyes, Nazi could almost feel it.

“Thank you so much for this.” Soviet muttered something under his breath, his accent heavier than usual as he spoke. “This really means the world to me.”

“Well, don’t leave me hanging.” Nazi stood up and held out his hand. “I want to hear you play somewhere nice.”

Soviet took his hand almost without hesitation, and the two of them walked out the door and into the powdery snow. They walked deep into the forest, and after a little while, found themselves in a small, secluded part of the forest, the snow nowhere around, almost like the snow only concentrated on a certain part of the environment. The two settled down into the grass in front of a glistening lake, the morning sun glittering upon the water’s surface as it shifted.

“Do you think this is a good enough spot?” Nazi looked back at Soviet.

Soviet nodded, staring around in awe. “Where did you find this place?”

“I took a walk in the woods.”

The two settled into silence as they gazed around, the air around them somehow warmer as well. Soviet held close his guitar when Nazi glanced over to him, and when Soviet looked back at Nazi, Nazi had to turn around so not to embarrass himself.

He heard Soviet clear his throat, then felt something shift in his hand. “I can’t play if you’re holding my hand.”

He jolted and yanked his hand away from the other. “Sorry, I forgot I-”

“Don’t worry about it,” he heard Soviet mumble, and he saw Soviet’s face brighten so red, that it almost looked like uncooked beef. Nazi wanted to laugh, but he didn’t feel he could bring himself to do it.

He looked down at the floor and felt his own cheeks grow warm instead. “Sorry anyway.”

Soviet took a moment before beginning to play the guitar, his hands flying across the strings and echoing into the morning, the sound sweet and longing, warm and sad, just like Soviet himself; a walking contradiction. Nazi felt entranced by the sound, hypnotized by the movements of Soviet’s fingers. He didn’t want this moment to end. He didn’t want any of it to end.

His wish seemed too far fetched, however, because Soviet stopped playing and rested the guitar down in his lap. “I never thought I would ever have my own.”

Nazi looked up at Soviet’s face as he grinned, his golden eyes softer than Nazi had ever seen.

“Thank you. Thank you for this. It means more to me than you could ever know.”

To Nazi’s surprise, Soviet took hold of his hand and kissed the back of it, causing Nazi’s face to immediately become five times hotter.

“Thank you.” Soviet gave him the brightest smile with a dust of pink on his cheeks and the tips of his ears.

“You’re welcome.” Nazi tried to grin at him, but it only looked like a shy little smile.

Soviet played the guitar every day for the next one and a half months. He played for the children every day, he practiced while looking over his plans that the other members of Union had given him and approved, and he gave Nazi some music to listen to when he requested it. He loved the guitar. He loved the present. When he came back over to Nazi’s mansion, he saw a small calendar with a small star on February twentieth. His birthday, perhaps. He had six days.

Why did he care about his birthday so much?

He decided to start making plans to get something small, not too big, and maybe involving his new guitar. He listened intently to Nazi’s rants about paints and brushes and easels, completely lost for the most part, but got some brand names - what he assumed, anyway. He repeated the names in his head a few times, then went to work. He listened to Nazi talk and talk about the party he planned in seven days, then told Soviet he wanted him to attend. His plan solidified.

He practiced for five days straight. He practiced a song he heard Nazi whistling to, and the day of Nazi’s birthday, he went into downtown Tristis and stopped in Constantinople Mall, which some time in recent years changed its name to Istanbul. He made his way to the art store on the other side with the little money he had, hoping he could buy just one thing for Nazi.

He pushed open the door and the smells hit him in an instant. The air smelled strongly of cut wood, thick paper, pencil wood, ink, and acrylic paint. He struggled not to cough at the strong smell and walked inside, looking through the shelves to find the brands he memorized days prior. He narrowed his eyes at the bottles and the glass cylinders, trying his best to get the one Nazi inadvertently asked for. He grabbed the bottle he looked for - some kind of watercolor-ink mix - of a brilliant scarlet red. He inverted the bottle and looked at the price. He winced at the number he saw there. Either he got this bottle and another of a different color, or drain his savings for the next three months.

Curse his caring nature.

He took the bottles to the front counter, paid for the bold scarlet and soft silver-white, then walked out of the store. He made his way to the store next to it and purchased a small bag and some wrapping paper, as well as a small bouquet of white and red roses, Nazi’s favorite flowers. There goes another month, but he didn’t care at this point.

He made his way back to his home and prepared everything before making his way to Nazi’s house. He pulled the doorbell chain, then waited for Nazi to open the door.

Why did he feel so giddy? Did he really trust the Royal that much? It had only been eight months, he still had four to go to prove him wrong. Somehow, that thought made him inwardly twinge with regret. Maybe his motives changed in having former Royal as his neighbor, but when, he didn’t know.

He saw Nazi open the door a few moments later with the widest grin. “Soviet! Welcome back!” He looked at the items Soviet held in his hands. “Are those for me? How did you know it was my birthday?”

Soviet chuckled, a familiar burning on his cheeks rising up for the millionth time in the last few months. “You had it on your calendar. May I come in so I can give these to you?”

“Right right, come on in.” Nazi pulled open the door and stepped back to let Soviet inside, allowing him a better view of the home he made for himself, such as the finished dining room, the custom-made chandelier hanging from the ceiling in the main commons room, the re-stained grand staircase at the back, and many other little things.

He set the items down on the dining table off to his left one by one, getting out his guitar, and presenting the flowers to Nazi, who tried to obscure the obvious red coloring his face.

“You told me these were your favorite months ago, so I decided to give you some to decorate your room a bit.” Soviet smiled and stepped back.

“Thank you, Soviet, they’re beautiful.” Nazi buried his face in the flowers. “I almost want to give these back to you. Thank you.”

“No need.” Soviet pulled out the small gift bag and held it out to him, to which he took and carefully unwrapped the paints.

Nazi’s eyes brightened and he looked up at Soviet. “You got me India Inks?”

“You said you needed more, so-“

Soviet grunted and stumbled back a step when Nazi barreled into him and squeezed him tight. He felt his face getting hotter and hotter as he stood there in shock for a few moments, then hesitantly wrapped his arms around Nazi as well.

“Thank you so so so so much.” Nazi’s voice sounded muffled in his trench coat. “These are amazing, thank you.”

Soviet cleared his throat and nodded, completely forgetting Nazi couldn’t see it at the moment. “Yeah, of-” his voice cracked, causing him to clear his throat again “-of course.”

Nazi pulled back, and Soviet snapped his arms to his sides. “So, you brought your guitar. Care to show me what you learned?”

Soviet took up his guitar and sat down in his seat. He hesitated a moment before beginning to strum, and quietly sing the lyrics. “I don’t want to set the world on fire, I just want to start a flame in your heart…”

When Soviet reached the end of the song, he saw Nazi vibrating with joy, his cheeks a light pink as he clapped. “That was beautiful.”

He ran his fingers over the neck of the guitar, his face and ears hotter than the surface of the sun. “Thank you.” He stood up. “And… happy birthday.”

“I’ll see you tomorrow, right?”

“No, I have a meeting with the rest of the Union tomorrow, which is why I did it on your actual birthday.”

He saw Nazi’s face drop a bit in disappointment. “Well, thank you for saying it today.”

He felt a pang of guilt as he packed up his guitar. “You’re welcome.”

“When do you plan to come over next?”

He clicked closed his case and picked it up, then turned back to Nazi, who had wide scarlet eyes staring straight at him. “I don’t know, but soon.”

Nazi nodded and stepped back toward the main door, holding it open for him. “Thank you for coming over.”

He smiled and patted Nazi’s shoulder. “Until we meet again.”

“Until we meet again.” Nazi smiled back, and Soviet retreated out the door.

When the year finally ticked to its last few weeks, days, and hours, Soviet had to admit to himself that the deal favored Nazi. Somehow, that charming former Royal somehow worked his way into his heart, and he didn’t know if he loved or hated it. So, when he pulled the doorbell chain on Nazi’s door with papers about the magic door within his hands, he also had other plans in mind. To his surprise, Nazi held a cake with a candle in one hand, while a camera rested in the other. Nazi convinced him to take a picture to signify the end of the deal, wrapping Soviet up in bandages to match how they met almost thirteen months before, and took a picture. An odd request, but one of Nazi’s many idiosyncrasies. They then pulled off Soviet’s bandages, split the cake in half, and ate it on the way to the lake Nazi had found months earlier.

He sat Nazi down in front of him and started explaining the doors to him, which Nazi listened to like his life depended on it. He watched Soviet’s demonstration, studied the photos he had, and intently hung onto Soviet’s every word. When Soviet finally finished his speech and finished off the deal for good, he hesitantly pulled out another paper from his pocket. A receipt.

“Nazi.”

He tilted his head up to look at Soviet with those glistening scarlet eyes. “Yes?”

“I wanted to ask you.” Soviet held the paper within his hands, swallowing hard and suddenly wishing he never started this conversation. But, he pushed through anyway, despite all of his worries. “Would you like to go out to dinner with me?”

He saw Nazi’s eyes light up like he never thought possible, and that giddy grin stretched wide across his face. He didn’t have time to react as Nazi launched into his arms and screamed ‘Ja’ over and over again.

He felt relief flood his senses and returned Nazi’s bone-crushing embrace with his own, muttering soft ‘thank you’s to the other.

What an interesting turn their lives took in the course of a year.

\---

Thank you so much for reading the first chapter! If you got this far along, I congratulate you! All of the chapters will be around this same length, which is why it's only twelve chapters long, but only ten real chapters because of the Prologue and Epilogue. I have been inactive for days to finally finish this beast during my busy phase I'm going through right now, so it's kind of why I haven't updated Country Whatevers. I am definitely working on something fantastic for the next episode, though!

Again, thank you for watching, and I'll see you when I update!

 


End file.
